


when the damn thing breaks i'll be there to take you home

by riverballad



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Comedy, Fluff, Gen, Road Trip, Road Trips, also, i wrote this for me but y'all can read it i guess, its.... not my Best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverballad/pseuds/riverballad
Summary: Jason returns to Gotham in a rusted up, Barbie-pink RV. What ensues is possibly the most dysfunctional 33 hour-long road trip in history.





	when the damn thing breaks i'll be there to take you home

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Nai Palm's Atoll

 

Jason returns to Gotham in a rusted up, hot-pink RV. 

They hear the damn thing before they can make out its figure, blaring quick and bright into their line of view; it shudders up the driveway’s curved incline and splutters to a halt in front of Wayne Manor with an almost theatric expulsion of smoke. 

It’s gaudy and garish and, quite frankly, garbage, but it’s enough to make the corner of Bruce’s mouth tilt upward, his figure a looming shadow from his perch in the upstairs study, expression obscured by tightly-drawn curtains and a carefully held cup of coffee. 

Now, the others would question him about it--or, more accurately, berate him-- if they didn’t know any better. But Jason is, well, as _Jason_ as ever, brows pulled low in a perma-scowl, hand curled precariously near the holster of his gun, and Dick knows enough about Jason and cars and Jason-and-cars to make the others hold their collective tongue. That is, in front of the kid.

But behind one’s back, the gang had long-since established, mockery was fair game.

Thus, as to be expected, when Jay finally enters the residence, it’s to a sharp _hush_ followed shortly thereafter by a shoddy attempt at silence as the others muffle giggles into shirtsleeves or between folded lips. Jason’s boots echo defiantly against the shining marble floor.

“Master Jason!” Alfred exclaims, in mock-astonishment, as though he hadn’t heard the kid rumble up from half a mile away. “This is a pleasant surprise, indeed.” 

“Hey, Alfred,” Jason says, visibly loosening. His features brighten ever-so slightly before returning to their instinctive expression which can best be described as something close to a frown as they make their way past the foyer when his vision settles on his three brothers who, gathered on separate couches in the sitting room, each sit with unnaturally-stiff postures, mouths tight and shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. 

Jason narrows his eyes as the silence stretches out before the four of them in a long, torturous line until, finally, one of them speaks.

“You are,” Damian says in place of a greeting, “not dead.” 

Behind him, Tim sniggers. When he sees his older brother’s dark eyes flit towards him, he coughs, lamely, into his fist. Nice save.

“Correction: I’m not dead _yet_.” Jason says wryly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his ratty jacket. The brown leather creaks. Tim lets out another loud cough that sounds suspiciously like “ _Day’s not over_.”

“Hey,” Dick says, rising from the velvety chaise before Jason can swat at the third Robin. He claps a hand over his younger brother’s shoulder and grins toothily in his direction. “So, Barbie. How’s Ken?”

There’s a beat. Then, as if possible, Jason’s frown deepens even more. As his eyebrows lower, behind them, Tim cackles violently. 

“Y’know what? Whatever.” Jason shrugs deeper into his jacket. (" _Security blanket, much?”_ Steph would tease him when she saw him in it later.) “Whatever. When you're all finished with your little bit, make sure everyone gets in the car.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s ability to cram all seven of them into the dingy space leaves Tim and Steph insisting, loudly, that Jason’s new ride is a “clown car.” (“It’s true,” Dick corroborates impishly, “I’d know.” Jason’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, but the man stays silent.)

“Okay, so, when I said _‘make sure everyone gets in the car’,_ I meant like you and Alfred and maybe the new one.” Jason says to Dick, jabbing a thumb to his right at Duke, when everyone’s already wearing their seat belts. 

From the front row’s passenger seat-- which Duke had wrestled from Damian’s furious grip on the basis of “ _One who calls shotgun first, gets shotgun. That’s, like, in_ The Bible”-- Duke deadpans, “Uh, thanks for that glowing invitation, man.”

“No problem, kid.” Jay shoots back with an identical tone.

After a beat, Duke inquires, “So…. wait. Where are we going exactly? And with, uh, a lump sum of zero luggage.?”

“If this is a mission,” Cass pipes up from the back of the vehicle, speaking for the first time since they merged onto the freeway almost an hour ago, “I agree with Thomas: we are unprepared for this. I don’t even have my suit.” 

“Me neither.” Tim seconds, absently, without lifting his gaze from its fixed position on the cards in his hands. When he catches Damian sneaking a peek from his side of the small table, Tim glowers, pulling the cards-- which seem to be the entire _Uno_ deck-- closer to his chest.

“We’re _not_ going on a mission.” Jason grinds out. 

“Okay. Right. But, like, if we were to _maybe_ , _hypothetically_ be going on a mission,” Tim says as he draws four from the deck, “then we’d _maybe_ , _hypothetically_ needs to swing back by the Manor to get our gear.”

“ _We are not going on a mission_.” Jason repeats. Dick snores loudly from the seat behind him. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So-- wait. We’re going on a mission?” Steph cries excitedly when she wakes with a start hours later. They’ve reached a particularly hilly stretch of road and the RV, in all its “old-and-gold glory” (Dick’s words) shakes like “an insufferable animal” (Damian’s. “ _Pot, meet kettle_ ,” Jason had countered.).

“ _No_.” Everyone snaps immediately. 

“Again,” Jason sighs. “We. Are. Not. Going. On. A. Mission.”

The man’s shoulders relax ever-so-slightly, a shift in demeanor imperceptible to everyone other than Dick who leans over the center console and whispers, “Jay. Psst, _Jason_.”

“Hmm?” Jason hums, his eyes fluttering a little in an effort to keep them open. The RV swerves as it’s driver fights the heavy exhaustion that pulls at his limbs. 

“Let me drive.”

“Really, Todd. Who knew you’d be as bad at driving as you are at combat.” Damian snarks, lifting his head from the red neck pillow Cass had convinced him to wear after Jason had slipped her ten bucks. She wasn’t one to side with Todd, really, but she’d gotten sick of Damian dropping his heavy head on her shoulder.

“Oh my God, Shut _up_.” Jason moans, slurring his words a little. 

“You first.”

“Christ, y’all are weird.” Duke says wearily. “I’m not tryin’ to get in a crash here, Jason. C’mon, Let Dick drive.”

“Seriously.” Steph mumbles, still half-asleep. Jason shoots her his best attempt at a menacing look in the rearview mirror (which fails spectacularly; his eyelids, despite his best efforts, droop heavy and low over his eyes).

“Ugh, Fu-- fine! Jesus.” Jason surrenders finally, pulling the RV to the road’s rough gravel shoulder, causing the entire vehicle to rattle as he shifts into park and undoes his seat belt. He sags a little before wrestling with the car door, and steps out to the rush of sticky-sweet humidity of western Pennsylvania. A road sign, bright green against the darkening sunset, tells them they’re 50-some miles from Pittsburgh. Dick steps out too, shouldering past his weary brother and into the driver’s seat as Jason collapses into the backseat. 

“Any of you guys gotta pillow or something? My back’s killing me.” Jay asks, turning his head behind him to look at the others. Damian pulls his neck pillow closer round himself, his eyes narrowing. Cass is sleeping soundly, cheek pressed against the window. Tim and Steph fiddle on their phones silently, bodies hunched over the small table. 

“Wow, great. Thanks guys, you’re a real help.” Jay says wryly, starting to turn back around. He winces-- his neck’s been at a weird angle all drive, he realizes-- and grits his teeth.

“Hey, Jason? You’ve got a GPS or something?” Duke calls back to him, “Dick and I are kinda driving blind here.” 

“Just-- uh, just stay on I-80 West,” Jay replies groggily, “That’s gonna be another 300-something miles.”

At this, there is what can only be described as “mass hysteria”. 

“What?” Tim, Dick, and Steph cry. 

“Oh, shut up.” Jay says, closing his eyes again and curling against the door. Out the window and obscured by a row of tall and wide atlas cedars, the sky burns in soft reds, oranges, and yellows. It kind of looks, Jason thinks as he drifts to sleep, like how he used to mix up _Trix_ yogurt when he was a kid.

 

 

* * *

 

  

Suddenly, smack in the middle of the night, Jason jolts awake. It’s dark out now, and the once-deserted freeway is now alive with the bright tail lights of cars. They’re as good as parked now; the traffic is so dense that there’s no use wasting the car’s battery or gas to move two inches a minute. Inside the RV things are equally as hectic: Damian who, having somehow wrangled the front seat from Duke’s insistent grasp, is tossing insults at Tim with incomprehensible speed and fervor.

“Oh, yeah? That’s what I thought you’d say, you tiny fucking demon!” Tim throws back. 

“Hey, language!” Dick absently chastises from the driver’s seat, eyes fixed on the book he’s reading. The RV jostles forward and stops once more just as quickly.

“Literally wha-?” Jay tries, but it’s drowned out in the chaos of the moment.

“Hey, both of you! _Shut up_ !” Jay yells. They stop for all of three seconds (Jason counts) before they tumble back together in a mess of fists and kicks and shouts. Part of Jason is urging himself to step in-- they’re just kids, after all. They could get hurt. Or, a possibility as pressing to Jason, they could screw up the car. Somehow. Who knows with the two of them. On the other hand, they both deserve it for how obnoxious they’ve been since-- well, _forever_. But before Jay can decide whether or not to act, the two of them break apart with a yelp.

“He-- _shit_ ! Damain _bit_ me!” Tim shrieks, clutching at his forearm with melodramatic flurry.

“Well it’s not my fault you’re a _bastard_ !” Damian retorts, his voice rising. The way his arms are folded across his chest makes the child look infinitesimally smaller. (Sometimes Jay really forgets the little Devilspawn is, well, a _kid_ ).

“Ha, funny coming from _you_!” Tim spits back, with so much anger that Jason, despite all his confusion, feels laughter bubble up in his throat. 

“Wow. I hate both of you. So much--” Jason says finally, staring fixedly out the window. 

“Hey--” Tim starts.

“So. Much.” He finishes, “ _Anyway,_ where are we? And what time is it?”

“Maybe you need a watch, Todd.” Damian offers unhelpfully, settling-- with much contempt-- back into his seat.

“Seat belt, Damian.” Dick orders, like the goody-two-shoes he is, as Jay is telling Damian that well maybe _he_ should go ahead and die. “You too.” Grayson adds a moment later without looking around to check. Jason grumpily complies, opening his mouth to re-ask his question before Duke steps in to supply an answer. 

“Eleven-something o’ clock and we are in,” He peeks down at his phone screen, which casts a pale blue glow across his face in the darkness. “...Indianapolis? Yeah, Indianapolis.”

“Great, we’re a third of the way there, then.” Jason declares, “And-- and my phone’s outta juice. Anyone got a charger.”

“No, ‘cause Drake broke the spare one.” Damian says roughly, his lower lip sticking out.

“Hey, what--"

"Anyway," Damian interjects with uncharacteristic (and suspicious) speed, "Grayson's hogging the spare.”

“You know as well as I do that the driver gets to pick the music!” Dick calls.

“Yeah, that’s, like, in _The Bible_.” Tim laughs, elbowing Duke in the stomach with bravado.

“Wait.” Jay interrupts, tearing his gaze up, “But there’s no music playing.”

“He tried to play “Dancing Queen” for the _fourth time in a row_ . Then _he_ ,” Tim says, jabbing a thumb in Damian’s direction, “ripped the AUX cord in half.”

“I don’t recall.” Damian says snootily, uncrossing and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Jay,” Dick interrupts once more, turning in his seat to face the younger brother. “You mind telling me where we’re headed now? ‘Cause-- not that we’re gonna be moving anytime soon, it looks-- but I stay on I-80 we’ll be lost in corn country.”

“That’s the plan.” Jason says airily. “Actually, I’ll get behind the wheel, now.”

“You, like, _just_ woke up.” Duke points out from beside him.

“Didn’t stop me from driving a shit-ton of miles earlier.”

“Wait,” a hushed voice interjects. Cass-- having woken sometime amidst the commotion-- stares groggily at her brothers, eyes struggling to stay open, her freshly-cropped hair a dark and messy halo around her head. Steph, still asleep, is curled into the other girl’s lap, legs askew. ( _Steph-spreading_ , they’d dubbed it). “Can we swing by a motel or something? I’d like to sleep in a real bed.”

“Me too.” Tim chimes after, a sentiment soon echoed by the rest of the (conscious) group. 

“Fine.” Jay relents, after much pestering.

 

**Author's Note:**

> if characterization is off in this story i'm sorry (!!)-- i haven't gotten around to reading nearly enough batfam-centric comics and its so hard to find batfam-centric comics OR fics that include duke (AAAHHHH)
> 
> ditto for my gross overusage of semi colons, em & en dashes, ampersands (&&&), & parentheses (duh (which you've probably realized by now if not earlier oops lo siento))
> 
> constructive criticism is, as always, welcome!
> 
> Keep up with me on Tumblr: solwritesfic.tumblr.com


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